Tuesday, March 27, 2012

That Houston Cookie

(I know this is a very strange thing to write about, given I haven't posted in months. But about four times a day I think of something that I want to write about, and I decided if I don't start doing it on the fly, I won't be able to do it at all. So polished these new posts will not be, but at least they'll be here!)

Our daughter absolutely adores music. Her favorite toy right now is a rattle/maraca that she shakes constantly. Her entire body wiggles when I give it to her. At three/four months old, she used to "sing" when I sang to her...she doesn't so much anymore. Now, at seven months, she laughs when I sing to her. I like to think it's because she's happy to hear the song, not because I sound hilariously awful when I sing. I'm just going to continue to believe that.

Given all of this, I know the time will come when she will, like my sisters and cousins and friends and I did, create dance routines to our favorite songs, and re-create musicals in our playrooms and basements. I know Chad and I will wind up sitting on the couch, watching the carpet "stage" and our little girl belt out "Maybe" from Annie and "Doe, a deer" from The Sound of Music. And I'm actually excited about it.

My sisters and I did this all the time. And last month, it all came back to me when I heard that Whitney Houston passed away suddenly. Because there was nothing better to create hilarious dance routines to than Whitney's songs. Not only because, with such titles as "Run to You," "I Have Nothing," and "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," you could do literal interpretive dance to them, but because they were always on the radio, so you could drop everything while setting the table, and do your dance together. Always laughing so hard you can't finish, of course. (I wrote a poem about this, here.) When I was in the 5th grade, a few friends and I were going to start a Whitney cover band. We fully believed people would hire us. I think we even talked about how we would get our parents to carpool to gigs.

When I heard Whitney had died I talked to my sister and we laughed at our small, ridiculous selves. Then I got an email from my Mom asking if I remembered when she used to sing "I Will Always Love You" in the car, every DAY. And oh, did I remember. I was really glad I learned how to drive soon after that. I can't call myself a Whitney Houston fan these days, but it is amazing to me how she was a thread in the fabric of my tweenhood, as I'm sure she was for many, many girls (and boys, I'm sure) who could close their eyes and feel the heat of the spotlight on their faces as they gripped their wooden spoon mics.

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A blessed smattering of cookies?

That phrase is a random story that is probably only funny or relevant to two people.

But what it represents are those moments you read something and think: I wrote that? Those moments are what I strive to create; the pieces that, when I read them later, propel me outside of myself and leave me nodding and smiling, quietly thoughtful, or just laughing and shaking my head at my ridiculousness. It's usually the latter. But any way, it's a good thing.